A Week in the Life of...
by Bwaye
Summary: Ever wonder what would happen if the Queen’s loyal servant, James Bond, swapped jobs for a week with England captain, Manchester United playmaker and over all useless pretty boy David Beckham? R
1. Default Chapter

Ever wonder what would happen if the Queen's loyal servant, James Bond, swapped jobs for a week with England captain, Manchester United playmaker and over all useless pretty boy David Beckham? Chaos, anarchy and murder on the football ground are just some of things our two adventures will get up to!  
  
~*~Disclaimer  
  
One day I will own everything... alas that day has not yet come... so I own nothing.... absolutely nothing...  
  
It was a pleasantly sunny day in down town London at the fabulous MI6 building overlooking the very healthy Thames River. M sat back in his gigantic Laz-e-boy leather upholstered chair and took a long draught of his Kenyan blend black coffee. He gingerly fingered the ever-growing mountains of paper work that littered his terribly expensive mahogany desk. The top sheet was an important looking dispatch from the Queen - complete with the royal seal and a harsh black stamp across the centre reading `top secret'. M looked at it worriedly - it had been a long time since he had received a dispatch like this and he couldn't imagine what it was about as his office didn't deal with these sorts of things anymore. He reached down and plucked the dispatch from its resting place above arguably the highest mountain of paperwork and hesitantly broke the seal. Inside was a short letter on pristine white paper. M sighed - the palace even had better paper than the MI6. The dispatch read:  
  
TO M,  
  
Have received important information regarding mass assassination attempts. Please deal with. If you fail in this task there'll be no tea party at the Queen's for you matey!  
  
Yours hopefully  
  
Sir Robert.  
  
M rolled his eyes. Then, seemingly coming to a decision he reached over to his com-link and pressed the big red button.  
  
"Money Penny send James in here as soon as you can please, and Money Penny please have an assortment of chocolate éclairs and fancy pastries sent in with him... Thankyou." M swivelled his chair around so the high back was facing the empty doorway. After a while he heard a loud deliberate knocking on the thick wood then, without waiting for reply, the door opened. In strode James looking the part in his impeccable Armani black silk suit complete with a devilishly slink satin tie. M turned around, he hoped quite dramatically.  
  
"Ah James," but then M faltered "your not James! You... Your David Beckham!" M's jaw dropped open. Beckham smiled a little guiltily.  
  
"Yeah - sorry about that...James's on holiday and asked me to fill in for him today... Sir." M recovered from his initial shock and nodded heavily. David reached into his pocket and produced James's standard issue Walther PPK and flipped it around in his hands thoughtfully.  
  
"D...Don't do that!" M stammered. Then managed "Did James say when he will be back?" David shook his head and pocketed the gun.  
  
"Nah he didn't Gaffer." David, incapable of sustaining the conversation, started systematically moving around the expensive office picking up objects, staring at them and putting them back down again. M tried desperately to compose himself.  
  
"O-K-A-Y... I guess." M sighed, obviously giving in. " well I suppose you can go on with James's scheduled jobs." M grudgingly handed David an attractive cream manila folder. David opened it enthusiastically, he leafed through the papers, looked thoughtful then said.  
  
"Oi Gaffer so you want me to deal with this `Mass assassination' thing then?" M nodded.  
  
"Yeah sure thing but I gotta go home at 5 `cause I gotta watch the news." David looked impressed with himself, M nodded feebly.  
  
"Ah good luck Ja... David." David smiled pleasantly.  
  
Meanwhile at Carrington training centre in Manchester, England.  
  
Sir Alex Ferguson was pacing along the immaculate chemical green fake grass and staring at the assembled players. Every one of the first team regulars was gathered, talking and stretching their gigantic muscles. Sir Alex Ferguson stoped turned around slowly, thought for a bit then.  
  
"Where's David?" The words were cruelly distorted by his thick almost incomprehensible Scottish accent. The players just looked blank, some shaking their heads, some shrugging their shoulders. Suddenly the usual peaceful quietness of the training ground was broken by a soft almost slinky voice.  
  
"Ah excuse me Sir I have some news on Mr David Beckham." Sir Alex twitched, startled by the sudden appearance of this stranger.  
  
"Who the hell are you and where's my davo?" The stranger raised an eyebrow.  
  
"The name's Bond, James Bond and I'm afraid David is in London doing his bit for the Queen this week so I'll be filling in for him." Sir Alex's eyes widened and his jaw dropped.  
  
"WHAT?" All the players stoped what they were doing and crept closer to get a better view of the upcoming fight.  
  
"Do calm down sir it's all perfectly legal and it's only for one week..." Alex tried but couldn't calm down.  
  
"I can not believe this, we play Bayern Munich on Wednesday!" James looked puzzled.  
  
"And I'm sure we'll win, now who has a spare pair of shorts, jersey, socks, boots and a jock strap I could borrow?" The players checked their pockets and soon a pile of garments appeared on the grass.  
  
"Ah, good stuff, I'll just go change shall I?" Sir Alex nodded and James trotted off in the direction of the dressing rooms. All the players gaped in unison, after a while, from the direction of the dressing room there could be heard shouts of.  
  
"This jock strap isn't even clean - what kind of a person lends someone a dirty jock strap?"  
  
Meanwhile at the MI6 shared military training ground in a sheep's paddock outside Sussex. David and M have just arrived in a pristine limo. The suited chauffeur cautiously opened the door outside, waiting for David, was a whole swag of camouflage-garbed soldiers. David smiled foolishly. The soldiers smiled back, jostling each other for position.  
  
"Let me see, I want to see David!"  
  
"Get back damn it - that's it your for it - I'm going to hurt you a lot!"  
  
"Hurt me a lot? You bloody ponce!" All at once the crowd bubbled then formed a perfect circle. David looked interested, m rather worried.  
  
"Oi Gaffer there's a fight goin' on over there!"  
  
"Yes... Ah lets go to the Admirals office now." M hurried off, David, rather curious, tried for a while to get a better view of the fight, but eventually gave up. He followed M to a squat dark black building. The windows were tinted and the building had a definite `leave me alone' look about it. When David caught up, M knocked firmly on the door. It opened to reveal a bleak looking room with a single large table in the middle and a pull down light overhead. The light wasn't on so it was hard to see but David could just make out a camouflaged tablecloth. While David was inspecting the tablecloth a shadowy figure emerged from the darkest corner in the room. M jumped, startled, but David didn't even look up.  
  
"M" The mysterious figure said in a military clipped tone.  
  
"Clarence! Good to see you old chap!" M leaned forward, clapping Clarence on the shoulder jovially.  
  
"Now lets get down to business." At that moment David looked up from his inspection, the light from the open doorway catching his face.  
  
"Who the hell is that?" Boomed Clarence.  
  
"Oh yes, it's just David Beckham... Turns out James is sick today... unfortunate considering we have such a big job to do..." M looked visibly disappointed.  
  
"David Beckham?" Said Clarence, questioning M's sanity.  
  
"Oh aye, that's me!" Said David.  
  
"Oh god it is him! Um... Do you think I could have your autograph David? I mean it's not for me, of course, it's for a friend who just happens to be your biggest fan...?" Clarence mumbled.  
  
" Corse you can! I tell you what I could sign this nice lookin' tablecloth here? Hows about that then?" Clarence nodded delightedly. M sighed.  
  
"Pull yourself together Clarence we have an important mission awaiting us."  
  
Sometime latter, after M had fully explained the mission to Clarence, M decided to take David to the mess hall for a hearty army meal. He wanted to keep David nice and healthy, he'd heard about his manager and thought it best not to damage his star player.  
  
The mess hall was full of guzzling soldiers, this all changed when David walked through the door. All eating stoped, cutlery was dropped, voices faltered and eyes opened wide with shock. M scanned the scene, looking for two empty chairs. There weren't any.  
  
" I wonder if anyone would be so kind as to offer a seat to us David?" M inquired in what he had hoped was a whisper. Every single soldier rose quickly making inviting motions for their chairs.  
  
"Bloody hell!" Said M under his breath. David walked over and sat in the closest chair, smiling at the shaking soldier thankfully. The soldier looked dazed then, with a triumphant glance around his fellow soldiers, started to dance. M looked amazedly from the dancing soldier to David.  
  
"Alright David... Eat up then we'll start training..."  
  
Back at Carrington.  
  
James is keeping up with the training much to the annoyance of Sir Alex. They had just been on their 5km romp around the field everyone was huffing, except James.  
  
"James why the hell aren't you out of breath?" Asked Ferguson, eyebrows drooping. James shrugged.  
  
"It takes a lot for me to run out of breath." Alex looked sceptical.  
  
"You're not even sweating!" James shook his head.  
  
"James Bond doesn't sweat." He said defiantly.  
  
"Why not? Everyone else does!" James couldn't lower himself to answer instead he harrumphed loudly.  
  
And so all seems well in this wacky but Queen condoned crossover. Save for lurking in the shadows of this very true story lies the most evil baddy the world has ever and will ever see. He walks in shadow, speaks will style, has piercing blue eyes and a devilish smile.  
  
That night both Bond and Beckham were eager to hear how the others day had been. So Beckham decided to use the mobile James had given him. Beckham vaguely remembered James saying something about the gadgets it was supposed to have but David didn't think it important at the time. He retrieved it from its resting place in the inside pocket of his jacket. Quite nonchalantly he flipped open the cover and dialled the number of his own mobile which was currently in the possession of 007.  
  
"Ah hello? James?" David said hesitantly.  
  
"Hello Mr Beckham, I trust your first day as Her Majesty's last defence went well?" James drawled.  
  
"Oh aye, that was brilliant like! I got to go to this army camp in some sheep paddock and meet some soldiers and sign a table cloth!" Beckham's voice was quick, nearly squeaky, just like the excited child that he was, thought James.  
  
"Ah good, good."  
  
"And what about you Jamie, good day at the office?"  
  
"Oh yes, splendid." said James, unenthused. Then he quietly added, under his breath. " Except for the incident with the jock strap."  
  
"What?" Asked Beckham, rather confused.  
  
"Never mind. This has been a delightful conversation Mr Beckham, but I'm afraid I have some research to do so I must be leaving. Good luck and good bye."  
  
"Aye, good bye!"  
  
~*~ Well that was day one i.e. chapter 1, one day there will be a chapter 2 though I know not when. Review if you care, flame if you dare. 


	2. Who Shoots a Football?

~*~ It took a while but here is chapter 2, monkeys included.  
  
The gigantic ball of luminous gas often referred to as the sun rose over England shedding its light on cities, towns, small populaces, sheep paddocks and two distinctly different men who were at that very moment going for their morning run. James Bond was going for a leisurely run at Carrington while David was running through the halls of the MI6 building and had so far only managed to knock over 5 people, a create full of weaponary and a water cooler. David was late, very late. Which was quite unusual for him as he was more than used to getting up at unheard of hours. He rounded the corner and had to dive roll to avoid trampling a little corgi that was sitting patiently right in the centre of the corridor. The corgi had a pristine white note attached to its diamond-encrusted collar. David was unsure what to do - get the letter or not? He didn't even know whom the letter was for. What if the dog was violent? David shuddered as he remembered his first experience with a Queen  
corgi - if that's what it was, of course, it had all the right markings, a diamond collar, a distinctly malevolent tinge to its little doggy eyes and, of course, a diamond collar. He had his first run in with one of these unrelenting beasts when he had gone to the palace for some reason or another. Anyhow, he had mistakenly wandered off the clearly designated route and found himself face to face with a one-foot tall terror. It had chased him for miles. David still woke up at night wondering were that fiend was. It was lucky for him that M chose that moment to go looking for the truant Mr Beckham. Unfortunately he didn't notice the dog until it was too late and he had stamped on its little royal tail. M looked down to see a growling mass of fur decimate his trouser leg. He bellowed before jumping behind David. Both men looked more than apprehensive as the corgi advanced, saliva dripping from its tinny mandibles. David and M took the chance and pelted down the corridor and  
barricaded themselves in M's office. M straightened his collar before sitting in his luxury recliner.  
  
"So David what's your excuse mmm? Why are you so late?" David looked down at his feet, blushing slightly as sounds of the mad corgi ripping at the thick mahogany door could be heard from outside.  
  
" Sorry sir... I was watching Tweenies..." David shuffled his feet with embarrassment.  
  
"That show with the brightly dressed mad little cartoon thingies?" David nodded his head unsure of what would come next.  
  
"I love that show! Well then that's all understandable! Enough said!" David smiled thankfully. Between you and me David hadn't been watching Tweenies - he finds it strangely scary and confusing - he had instead been watching the news! M shuffled some paper on his desk before looking up at Beckham earnestly.  
  
"You have a mission Mr Beckham..." Beckham suddenly looked very enthusiastic.  
  
"A mission!" M nodded sternly.  
  
"Here are your orders," M handed David a cream coloured envelope with TOP SECRET stamped on it in red ink. David looked at intently.  
  
"Well open it." Suggested M who had no idea himself what the mission was and was more than eager to find out what important job a footballer turned secret agent would be deemed fit to run. David opened it in a cavalier manner, little bits of paper going everywhere. M brushed a bit off his head while David read aloud.  
  
"Beckham you are instructed to break through and neutralise the Dutch crime syndicate the `The Van Men' by tea time. You have permission to use any weapons from the armoury, M is instructed to take you there. Good luck soldier/ midfielder."  
  
M was impressed; obviously the hierarchy had more confidence in Mr Beckham than he did! The Van Men were a notorious mob; he had lost two and half agents in the war against them so far. He leaned back in his chair, mind racing, things don't bode well for Mr Beckham.  
  
Meanwhile at Carrington.  
  
It was just another day training with the mad Scotsmen. Over the years the lads had managed to build up a rudimentary understanding of their famed but illegible manager.  
  
"Ack Jimmy where be that lad who do not appreciate a nice dirty jock strap?" Bond stepped out from behind a tree, incapable of making an ordinary entry.  
  
"Are you referring to me sir?"  
  
"Oh aye!"  
  
"Then I am here sir." James indicated himself with a sweep of his hand. He ran to a different tree. "And here sir." Everyone was looking at James with a confused almost scared look on their faces. Sir Alex gave Bond a calculating look before throwing him a Nike football. James caught it, looking at it blankly.  
  
"Well lad show us your skills." Sir Alex urged. James still slightly confused threw the ball up in the air then shot it three times before it hit the ground with the handgun he kept in his left sock. All jaws dropped, someone sniggered.  
  
"Wha.. What!! What the hell was that? You just shot my football!!" Sir Alex's face was taking on a pink tint. Bond pocketed the gun and looked at his new boss meaningfully.  
  
"Yes," He said slowly "what exactly were you expecting?"  
  
"A less violent approach!" Spat Sir Alex as he cautiously pocked the deflated ball with his foot.  
  
"Violence is my duty Sir." Sir Alex looked exasperated.  
  
Back In London.  
  
M had called a security team to take away the vicious corgi so he could take Beckham to get all weaponed up. The weaponry was in the third basement. The entire level was dedicated to all things destructive. Various guns lined the walls, there was an entire display for knives and even a wall for blunt instruments such as crowbars and monkey wrenches. Beckham was impressed. He had never seen so many weapons, he wondered with awe which ones he would be allowed to `borrow'. M was leading him through the impressive arsenal to a room right at the back which had 007 printed on it's shinny red surface. Once inside M closed the door gently behind him.  
  
"Well?" he asked tentatively. It wasn't a particularly impressive sight - especially not compared to the wonders that lay outside. The room was Spartan with pale concrete walls and floor. The only furniture was a simple pine table off to one side. An aluminium brief case rested on the table.  
  
"Um... it's... ah... nice?" hazarded Beckham, fidgeting slightly.  
  
"Nice? It's not just nice! It's splendid! Amazing! Riveting! Absolutely breathtaking!" Beckham nodded hopelessly. M picked up the brief case and patted it in an affectionate manner. "It's 007's very own brief case!" chirped M excitedly, David was completely lost. M handed the case to David, with as mush ceremony as he could muster.  
  
"Err thanks." managed Beckham, as he looked it over cautiously. "What's the combination sequence?"  
  
"007 of course!" M looked a little exasperated. "James isn't very imaginative..." David nodded in agreement even though he actually thought it was a clever password. "Well I suppose you'll be getting on your way then!" Suggested M as he pushed Beckham out the door, locking it behind him.  
  
"Huh? Don't I get any weapons?" M looked confused.  
  
"But you have a brief case... why should you want any thing else?" David was about to answer when he spied a gigantic crossbow.  
  
"What about that?" Asked David as he pointed to the massive gun.  
  
"Don't be silly! That's for hunting Russians!" M chuckled softly. "You'll be fine with what you've got. Now get going!" M said as he looked at his gold Rolex, which had monkeys as clock hands.  
  
~*~ If you would like to send condolences for the brutally murdered Nike football you are welcome. Please remember even though footballs are just round balls what love to be kicked around but are, alas, largely inanimate doesn't mean they deserve to be shot! PLEASE REVIEW - wow that sounded desperate. 


	3. Mmmmmm M

Considering there has been neither whisper nor word on the whereabouts and happening of our two esteemed heroes for a matter of many moths I feel it necessary to edge you gently back into this terrible tale. So consider this a bridge chapter.  
  
~*~  
  
M opened his eyes slowly. Something was not right, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He felt very strange. His body was tingling and his chest felt awfully heavy. "I say, what's going on?" he whispered meekly, voice croaking. "Ah Mrs M, you're finally awake! How do you feel?" inquired a man garbed in a long, white jacket. "What? Huh? Oh I feel. fine. Where am I," M paused suddenly "Did you just call me 'Mrs M' because I am a man you know," stated M pointedly. The man in the jacket laughed softly. "Not anymore my dear." "What?" "You see you're a women now M. I'm afraid the Ministry felt they should move with the times and drop their frankly out of date, chauvinistic attitudes towards women in positions of power. But, you see, rather than go to all the trouble of appointing a new M, which would take time and money, they just gave the old one a sex change." "Is this some kind of sick perverted joke?" M hissed. He moved his hands behind him and pushed himself up into a sitting position. The man in the white jacket quickly moved away from the bed, revealing a full-length mirror behind him. M vaulted from the bed as best he could and stopped dead in front of the mirror. "Oh my god."  
  
~*~  
  
In the very bowels of the MI6 building, way past the arsenal, there lies a room. It is by far the hardest room to reach in all the world (even more difficult to reach than bathrooms in restraints). In order to get there one must face numerous perils the like of which make double O agents wet their pants. There are crocodiles, lions, tigers, and enraged elephants. There are gangs of thugs and hit men prowling the route, ready and willing to attack. There are monkeys; all equipped with Q's Omega watches with laser beams. There's even a group of Russian commandoes, which escaped the training grounds of the MI6 only to find themselves stuck in this hell. The perk is a man who sells peanuts for a very reasonable sum. Anyhow, inside this room there is a huge, round oak table. At this very moment, six suited gentlemen are seated there discussing something very dire indeed. "Now all I am saying is that, yes we are quite modern, but not nearly modern enough!" said one of the gentlemen, slamming his fist onto the table rather dramatically. "But we just made M have a sex change! How more modern can you get?" whined another. "Yes he, no she was a stroke of bloody brilliance! But we can't just leave it there. One strike will not win the war, we require further action. Therefore, I have drawn up a little plan." The man handed five gleaming folios to his counterparts with a smug sort of smile on his face. The men glanced at the folios in a stunned sort of fashion. "It says here all employees should attend more exhibitions and take classes in interpretive dance and poetic appreciation," recited one of the men. "Yeah and it says here that M should attend mime classes, wear a beret and always walk around with a giant coffee cup in her hand. Don't you think that might be asking a little too much?" "Nonsense! Now listen here. These suggestions will be enacted, or else." ~*~  
  
It was eight o'clock in the morning and time for Mrs M to start work. Deciding that she could not take the shame, she went to work wrapped in a dark, heavy cloak. She had gotten some very peculiar looks from her work mates as she walked up the grey steps to the MI6 building. Once inside she was at once pounced upon by a gang of suspicious guards. "Owww! What are you doing? Get off me you little whipper snappers!" One of the guards toted his shiny SD Barretta, pointing it at M's heart. "I suggest you explain yourself you suspiciously cloaked individual," said the guard coolly. "It's me! M! Now let go of me!" whined M. Another of the guards ripped of M's hood and screamed in surprise. The guard with the gun tightened his grip and released the safety catch. "M is a man and you are not, so you are coming with me matey-" The guard was suddenly cut off by Money Penny hurtling down the stairs towards them. "Um I guess you guys weren't told.. M has had a sex change. It's now Mrs M." said Money Penny sheepishly. The guards released M quickly, jumping to their feet and, shocked expressions on their faces. "Ah, sorry sir. I mean Ma'am." The guards turned around and hurried off leaving M sprawled on the ground. M got up fixing his cloak and hurried off to his office. And there he sat when 00David Beckham walked through the door. Beckham took one look at M and screamed in horror. "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! It's a ring wraith! Help me!" David cried, dropping to his knees. "What?" M hissed. "Just take my damn ring, I never liked it anyway!" David ripped his wedding ring off and threw it at M, squawking wildly. "I think it's going to be a very long day." ~*~ Yeah, that chapter did take a while and there really wasn't much about Bond or Beckham it was pretty much just an in-between chapter. We will return to normal viewing soon (I'm on holidays now, so it won't take another eight months for another chapter to appear!) Thanks a bunch for your reviews people - I probably wouldn't have started this story up again without 'em. 


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